Deadly Addiction
by julianfletcher
Summary: What was Sam Winchester's addiction to demon blood really like?


The dark motel room made it hard to tell for sure, but Sam could hear a deep, steady breathing coming from the other bed- his brother was definitely asleep.

Sam waited five more minutes, just to be certain, before sitting up and pulling off the sheets. His head spun a little, the room floating around him in dizzy circles, and the pounding in his skull was almost unbearable. Worse of all, he was thirsty. For something strong, stronger than whiskey.

Sam stood up unsteadily and stumbled to the door, trying to stay quiet. He grabbed his jacket and stepped outside. The cold night air bit into his nose and cheeks, and he tugged the jacket tighter. There was a vending machine up the sidewalk a ways. Good. He walked to it, face looking extra pale in the glow and the soft hum of the machine. With shaking hands, he put a dollar in the slot and selected a coke.

It was gone in a second. But it didn't even curb the thirst. It just made it worse. Sam leaned against the vending machine for support as the dizziness came back in a rush and pulled out his phone. He dialed, hung up, then re-dialed the number he knew he should never call. Not ever. But he had to.

He pressed the phone to his ear, wincing as the ringing reverberated painfully around his head. Come on...come on...pick up.

"Hello," came a soft female voice.

"It's Sam. I need you to meet me at the Throwback Motel on Second Street. You're in town, right?" His voice was insistent, his tone urgent.

"What do you want, sweetheart?"

"Cathy, I'm thirsty for it. I need it. Now."

There was a pause. "Very well, darling. I'll be there in five minutes. Will you last that long?"

"Just get here," Sam growled. He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Now to wait for Cathy. He pressed back against the motel wall, starting to shiver now, watching the road that led to the parking lot with hungry eyes.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a red Corvette pulled in, and a tall, thin woman dressed in black stepped out. She had long, curly brown hair and dark eyes.

Sam rushed over to her, grabbing her arm and tugging her towards the motel. "Please hurry," he gasped.

They went around to the back where it was mostly dark, except for a flickering street light. "Okay," Sam whispered, "I'm ready."

The woman rolled back her sleeve and drew out a knife from her jacket, cutting a thin gash in her forearm. Immediately, Sam pushed it up to his lips and started drinking, sucking, gulping. Cathy smiled, her eyes washed over in complete, soulless darkness as the boy drank his fill. "You _are _thirsty," she soothed.

Sam kept on drinking. The demon blood ran down his throat as thick and warm as syrup, easing the pain in his head, settling his nerves, warming his body from the cold. It rested heavy and comforting in his stomach. But he was still thirsty. He wanted more...and more.

At last it was Cathy who eased her forearm from Sam's grip. "That's enough, sweetheart," she cooed. "Enough for tonight. I need blood to live as well you know."

Sam nodded, breathing heavily, staring at the ground, feeling the rush of fresh demon blood churn in his body. He didn't even notice Cathy leave. The boy wiped his blood stained mouth with the back of his jacket sleeve. The mess didn't really bother him though. The comfort and power that flowed inside him was reviving. And his thirst was satisfied.

As Sam walked back to the front of the motel, he tried to fight a sudden weighty feeling of guilt that pressed down. He knew he shouldn't drink the blood; it was wrong. Dean would be furious if he knew. No, not just furious. Disappointed.

Sam felt almost as horrible as he did earlier when he stepped back into the motel room.

The lights were on. Sam blinked, surprised. "Where have you been?" came a voice from the other side of the room. Sam looked to see Dean leaning against the wall, Castiel standing next to him. Why was Cas there?

"I went out to get some air." Sam took off his jacket, watching warily from the corner of his eye as Dean neared.

He turned back around and without warning his older brother threw a punch into his jaw followed by another in the gut. Sam doubled over and Dean grabbed his collar, shoving him roughly against the wall. "Sammy, I'm tired of your lies!" he shouted. "How am I supposed to trust you if you even can't tell me the truth?"

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "let me explain."

In response, Dean threw two more punches. They landed in the boy's stomach.

This time Sam fought back, shoving Dean off and sending him crashing back across the floor and into the kitchen table, breaking it in half.

After a moment, Dean stood up unsteadily, anger and disappointment- Sam guessed it- written all over his face. "You're only that strong when you're jacked up on demon blood. And I know you are. I saw you out there with that demon chick." Dean shuddered, his tone softening some, becoming earnest. "How could you, Sammy? I thought this was all over."

Sam stumbled over to the bed and sat down, hand clutching his stomach. "I'm sorry, Dean, I really am. I just woke up thirsty. So thirsty..."

"I don't give a crap how thirsty you were, Sam," Dean growled. "You're drinking DEMON BLOOD. Remember what happened when you drank Ruby's blood?" Sam didn't answer. "You started the apocalypse!"

Pain and sorrow flashed across Sam's face. "I thought we were past that, Dean."

Dean opened his eyes wide and spread his arms out. "Hey, guess what. So did I!"

Castiel moved for the first time from his place by the wall. "I do not think arguing will get us anywhere." He sighed with a sorrow that seemed to echo around the room. "I think we all know what needs to be done."

Sam swallowed and licked his dry lips, blood residue filling his mouth once more. He knew what Cas meant. They would go to Bobby's house, lock him in the "panic room," a place completely demon proof, and keep him there until he was purified of the demon blood. It was horrible. He couldn't sleep, and the nightmares were always real. Every moment was filled with vivid hallucinations. People he once knew appeared to rip him apart and tear him down with their accusing words and harsh lies.

Sam looked back up at his brother and the angel, tears stinging his eyes. He stood up, rubbing sweaty palms on his jeans, and nodded. What he did was wrong, and he wasn't going to fight back. "I'm ready. Let's go."

The car ride to Bobby's was quiet. Sam stared out the window into the dark of night, the once satisfying taste of blood now burning bitter in his mouth. Dean had one hand loosely gripping the wheel; with the other he rubbed his eyes now and again. Castiel, although he could have teleported instantaneously, sat in the back and rode with them.

They were already in Sioux Falls, South Dakota so the drive to Bobby's took less than twenty minutes. The trio walked to the door, Sam trailing behind.

Bobby looked surprised and groggy when he answered, but one look at Dean's hard, steel expression told him that something was very wrong. He stepped aside, letting the boys and Castiel in. They walked to the kitchen table. "Mind telling me why the heck you're at my house at four in the morning?" Bobby grumped, rubbing his tired eyes.

Dean patted Sam on the shoulder. "Sammy here needs to use to panic room."

Bobby's eyes widened in shock. He stared at Sam for some time, the boy avoiding his eyes. "Is it true, Sam? You drank the blood _again_?"

Sam nodded, eyes glued to the wooden floor. "Yes, sir."

"How did the demon even find you? Cas put the mark on your ribs so you couldn't be found by angels or demons."

"I told her where we were."

Bobby's jaw dropped in astonishment. "You fool! You told a demon where you were staying!?"

Dean stepped in. "Bobby, we just want to use the room for a few days, then we'll get out. Okay?"

Bobby nodded, giving Sam one more glare before leading the way downstairs. Dean turned the handle and swung open the large, heavy door to the panic room. Sam grimly stepped in. "Can you cuff me to the bed, Dean?"

Dean walked in and Sam lay on the thin mattress, stretching his arms over his head and spreading his feet apart. The older brother made his way around the bed, buckling Sam's ankles and wrists tightly down with leather bands.

Dean walked back to the door, shutting and locking it tightly. He knew that within hours Sam would be screaming for someone to let him out. It was the demon blood that tormented him so, and it needed to be removed.

Dean lingered at the door, listening at the sounds of struggle already begin. He knew Sam was in there, tugging at his restraints like a wild animal, bombarded with horrid hallucinations that would seem to never go away.

But there were more urgent matters to think about. There was an apocalypse looming overhead and they would need to be on the top of their game. Even if they didn't win, they would die trying. Still, one question remained...would Sam be trustworthy?


End file.
